


Setback

by REMSleep (radianterin)



Series: Past & Present [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Language, Past Sexual Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, behavior that could be construed as PTSD, gratuitous use of the concept of bath bombs, hurt!Zoro, protective!Sanji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radianterin/pseuds/REMSleep
Summary: "The plate that Zoro had just taken from Sanji shattered on the wooden floor. Before Sanji could even turn around to look at him, he was gone, the door swinging wildly behind him. Sanji’s anger was no longer unwarranted. He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, his jaw working side to side."An insensitive remark sends Zoro two steps back.





	Setback

**Author's Note:**

> It's been 5 months since I uploaded the first part of this series. I have worked and reworked this part so many times. I hope y'all like it at least a little, I'm not entirely pleased with it.
> 
> This tracks much better if you've read "Confession" (pt. 1 of this series).

Ever since his confession Zoro had lost his hard edges around Sanji. He had always been a man of few words, but now his quietness was soft and open rather than frosty and guarded. Being alone with Zoro was like being in a fire-heated cabin in the dead of winter while wrapped up in a wool blanket. It was _comfortable_. This change didn’t extend to the rest of the crew, and Sanji realized just how much of himself he had been hiding and continued to hide from everyone else. The deep lines in his brow smoothed out in the confines of the galley, which had quickly become he and Sanji’s place of refuge away from the rest of the crew, who weren’t yet privy to the development in their relationship.

 

Zoro’s newfound gentleness, including his genuine lopsided smiles and off-the-cuff commentary ( _you ever wonder if Chopper thinks humans are unbearably hideous and is just too nice to say anything?_ ) was precious to Sanji, which is why he relished every moment they had alone together. But Zoro either shut down or treated him nearly the same as before when any of the crew was present. It stung, but Sanji tried not to take it personally. Zoro still didn’t know Sanji’s feelings about being open and public with their relationship, and was most likely trying to save face for both of them until they figured it out.

 

One night, after as mellow of a dinner as possible with Luffy aboard the Merry, Zoro hung behind to help Sanji wash and dry the dishes. He had managed to be sufficiently casual about it so that no one asked invasive questions. Sanji had his hands in the water on scrub duty, rinsing each dish and passing them over his shoulder to Zoro, who was drying and stacking them while humming happily to himself. Sanji smiled. He didn’t recognize the tune, but it didn’t matter. Knowing Zoro was relaxed enough around him to be _that damn adorable_ was all that was important.

 

They spent a few minutes like that, a nice conveyor belt of dishes moving between the two of them, until they heard footsteps approaching the galley. Zoro instinctively put a few extra inches of space between them and hunched up into his usual posture before the door swung open.

 

Nami, assuming it was just Sanji in the galley, didn’t bother looking in their direction as she entered.

 

“Sanji- _kun_ , have you seen my compass? I can’t find it anywhere and-“ she suddenly caught sight of the two of them at the sink and laughed.

 

“Oi, Zoro, lose a bet or something?”

 

“Or something,” Zoro said brusquely, and Sanji tried to suppress a wave of unwarranted anger at Nami for bursting their careful bubble. She had no way of knowing what was really going on.

 

Sanji glanced over at her, intervening. “No, Nami- _san_ , I haven’t seen it, but I’ll keep an eye out for it.” He hoped that would be enough to send her back out but instead, she gracelessly flopped into one of the chairs, sighing.

 

“That’s alright. It has to be on the ship somewhere.”

 

A pause.

 

“Since you’re finally doing your part on this ship,” she said to Zoro, her tone light but teasing, “maybe I ought to have you help me out too. With all the debt you still owe me it’s a wonder I don’t make you my personal slave!”

 

_Crash._

The plate that Zoro had just taken from Sanji shattered on the wooden floor. Before Sanji could even turn around to look at him, he was gone, the door swinging wildly behind him. Sanji’s anger was no longer unwarranted. He gripped the edge of the sink tightly, his jaw working side to side.

 

“What the hell was that about?” Nami inquired, defensiveness in her tone.

 

“You have no idea what you’ve just done, Nami,” Sanji said carefully. He turned towards her and wasn’t swayed by the obvious confusion and slow forming regret on her face. He jerked his head in the direction of the broken plate. “Clean that up and finish the dishes.” He didn’t wait for a response before following in Zoro’s footsteps.

 

* * *

  

Sanji rapped on the bathroom door. “Zoro. It’s me.” Silence. There was water running inside. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, cursing Nami furiously under his breath. “C’mon, Zo, I can’t leave you alone like this.” No response. He tried the knob, which to his surprise was unlocked, and slipped into the room, locking the door behind him. Now was not the time for unwelcome intrusion.

 

Zoro was cross-legged on the floor with his back against the tub. The sink faucet was on full blast, and the mirror had started to fog up. Sanji took a clean cloth from the shelf and wet it before shutting the faucet off and kneeling in front of Zoro.

 

He took Zoro’s wrists gently and placed his hands side by side, palms facing skyward. There were eight bloody crescents in Zoro’s palms where he had been clenching his fists too tightly.

 

“Open up,” he urged, and Zoro obliged, seeming to just then become aware of the damage to his hands. He didn’t react as Sanji laid the damp cloth across both of his open palms. After retrieving some gauze, Sanji made quick work of cleaning and bandaging his hands. Zoro gazed absently down at them.

 

“Hey,” Sanji said, “Can you look at me?” Zoro squeezed his eyes shut instead.

 

“That’s alright,” Sanji sighed. “At least let me take you out of here.” He laid a soft touch on Zoro’s forearm, who jerked away forcefully, snapping his eyes open to glare at him.

 

Sanji withdrew his hand. “I’m just trying to help,” he said, the words coming out meeker than he intended. “What can I do, marimo?”

 

Zoro suddenly scrambled to his feet. “I don’t need your help, cook,” he snapped, storming out the door without looking back.

 

Sanji let him go and sat motionless for a moment, still kneeling on the floor. He wasn’t angry with Zoro. He knew firsthand how trauma could skew perceptions; make you feel undeserving, make you say things you don’t really mean. Zoro had been reliving his quite a lot in the last few weeks, after having repressed it for years. Sanji wasn’t angry. He understood. But it still hurt to be shut out, and to know that Zoro was hurting, and that the best thing he could do right now was keep his distance and wait for Zoro to come to him.

 

He pushed himself off the floor and wandered out onto the deck after he was sure enough time had passed for Zoro to disappear to wherever it was he wanted to hide. He spotted a soft glowing light up in the crow’s nest. The wind ruffled his hair as he stopped and gazed up at it for a long stretch, like a moth drawn to a flame. Resisting the urge to climb the mast required a Herculean effort. Eventually, he lowered his gaze and crossed the last few steps back to the galley.

 

He stopped short in the doorway when he found Nami still at the sink. She froze also, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, before averting her eyes and finishing the last dish in the sink. Sanji realized the whole ordeal between when he left and now must have been less than 10 minutes. It felt like a lifetime.

 

He didn’t say anything to Nami, but instead pulled a bottle of sake from his secret hiding place and took a swig straight from the bottle (he had picked up Zoro’s bad habit), sitting down bodily at the table. He wasn’t particularly interested in having a conversation with Nami right now, but much like with Zoro, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with her.

 

She dried the last dish and added it to the stacks, folding up the towel and draping it over the sink. She turned and leaned against the counter, wringing her hands nervously.

 

“I’m not going to bite your head off it that’s what you’re worried about,” Sanji said tonelessly, lighting a cigarette and taking the first drag.

 

She didn’t respond for a moment, but lost a bit of her edge. Slowly, she came to join him, perching on the edge of a chair and leaning her elbows on the table.

 

“I’ve never seen him like that before,” she said lowly, bringing her eyes up to Sanji’s. He kept his face as neutral as possible. “What’s his deal?”

 

“Not my place,” he said levelly. It was almost a challenge.

 

“He’s been through some shit. And you know what it was.”

 

Sanji thought for a moment, picking his words carefully. “Yeah,” he said lowly, tapping the ash from his cigarette and keeping his eyes down. “I know what it was.”

 

She said nothing.

 

He sighed, but met her eyes again. “Listen to me,” he said, seriously enough that Nami knew she needed to pay attention. “You have to apologize to him. And you have to apologize for using that word.”

 

“He won’t accept it,” she said softly. Sanji knew then that she was genuinely upset with herself.

 

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But he needs to hear it anyway. And if you’re sincere, he’ll know. You need to tell him that’s not something that will happen again.”

 

She said nothing again.

 

“It won’t happen again, will it?” Sanji said, straightening up and leaning across the table.

 

Nami looked taken aback. “Of course not.”

 

He eyed her again warily before settling back into his seat. “Good.”

 

She gave him a quick once over. “What’s _your_ deal?”

 

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

 

She snorted. “You hate the guy. Why are you so protective all the sudden?”

 

“That’s none of your business.”

 

“Everyone knows there’s _something_ going on,” she continued; with a grand gesture at the word ‘something’. “You’re alone together a lot.”

 

“I…it’s…like I said, it’s none of your business?” It came out as a question, which didn’t help his case at all. This wasn’t something he could reveal without consulting Zoro first. _Did everyone really know?_

 

Nami smirked. “Well, it’s obvious you’re friends with benefits, maybe minus the friends part.”

 

Sanji was suddenly very, very angry. “That is NOT what this is,” he seethed.

 

“Then what? Is it just hate sex all the time?” Her voice still had a teasing edge to it.

 

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Nami.” The half-smoked cigarette fell to the table as he stood up sharply, towering over her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice low and guilty again. “I was just fucking with you. No one else has noticed anything.”

 

He pointed dramatically at the door. “Get out,” he said dangerously, and Nami didn’t hesitate in making her exit.

 

As soon as the door swung shut he deflated like a balloon. He took another hearty swig of sake bottle and buried his head in his hands. Sanji stashed the sake back in its hiding place and extinguished his forgotten cigarette. Deciding there was nothing more to be done that night, he dimmed the lights in the galley and wandered back outside. He spared one last look up at the crow’s nest. The glowing light in the window made a fraction of the tightness in his chest uncoil. Zoro was alive; he was safe up there. And considering all he had been through, that was an incredible blessing.

 

* * *

 

Guilt and shame weighed on Zoro like a physical object. It crushed him, curving his spine mercilessly until he curled in on himself, lying prone on the floor of the crow’s nest. He had his arms wrapped around his bent legs so he wouldn’t have to see the bandages Sanji had so meticulously wrapped around both his hands.

 

He hadn’t meant to snap at him. It hadn’t even felt like it was under his control. And now he couldn't bring himself to go and apologize, to be near him, even though he desperately wanted to be. There was nothing he wanted more.

 

He was stupid. Weak.

 

Worthless.

 

The barrage of insults he hurled at himself was ruthless. All this over an insensitive comment from a nakama who should have known better. There was no way she could have.

 

He stayed there for what felt like hours, not bothering to make any sense of what was flying through his head, an endless cycle of _you damn coward, you let this happen to you, why didn’t you fight back._

 

As his thoughts threatened to cycle through once again, his brain supplied him with the image of Sanji kneeling in front of him in the bathroom.

 

“ _What can I do, marimo?”_

 

A memory came rushing back to him then, unbidden. One of the few pleasant memories he had from a time that was overwhelmingly dominated by pain. The first time someone had called him a name instead of a number.

 

* * *

  

_When 207 came to, he was alone. There was no telling when he’d blacked out. The constant assault had forced him to learn how to detach from whatever was happening and come back when it was safe. Not that it ever was._

_He lay on his side, staring up at the drapery on the window closest to the bed. Pain was a constant. His mind and body were battered from his longest slew of assailants yet. He stopped trying to clean himself up days ago; hunger gnawed at his stomach from who knows how long without proper food and his tongue was heavy and dry from thirst. Whatever drug had been forced into his nose last night made his sinuses throb and his pelvis ache. There was still some blood trickling out of his nostrils, mingling with what had already dried hours ago. Even if he had the extra water available, he couldn’t have cried at this point. There was no end in sight. The curtain on the window would make just as good of a noose for him as it did the room’s previous occupant. All he needed was some time alone._

_It barely registered when the door to his room opened yet again. He could have imagined it when he heard a soft “oh my god” and a bag drop to the floor. Just as he was about to withdraw again, into the small comfort that was total oblivion, a face appeared in front of him, kneeling beside the bed. “Are you alright?” The person seemed concerned. That didn’t make any sense. “You look like hell.”_

_The face belonged to a young man with short hair and dark skin, older than him, but not by much. He seemed genuinely worried, his brows creasing as he took in the situation._

_207 didn’t answer, but his eyes widened a bit. The man reached out to touch the hand 207 had curled up against his chest, who flinched. “Okay,” the man said softly, taking his hand back. He did a quick once over of 207 from head to toe, seeming to be upset by what he saw. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared somewhere out of sight._

_207 shut his eyes, not knowing whether he wanted the man to come back or not._

_It could have been minutes or hours before the man reappeared. 207 was still wary of him, but was becoming more curious than scared. Mostly, he was just tired, no energy left to fight. The man took a soft hold of his elbow and pulled him to sit up, coaxing him farther until he was standing. After such a long time lying down, 207 swayed as the blood rushed from his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” the man said. His voice was low and soothing. It was a nice change._

_He couldn’t bring himself to respond._

_The man guided him to the bathroom, rarely used in recent days. The shower was on and the tub was full, steam rising from the surface. “Get in the shower first and wash up,” he said, still holding 207’s elbow. It was a suggestion, not a command. 207 stared at the floor, unsure if he should follow through. He still half expected an unwelcome advance, or a blow, or an unkind word. If the man were so inclined, 207 would have no time to put up a barrier._

_But the running water and steam filling the room were drawing him in, and it seemed at least that the man had no intention of joining him during this process. He let go of 207’s elbow and replaced it on his shoulder, putting some extra distance between them. He lowered his voice even further, barely audible over the shower. “I know it’s hard for you to believe me, but I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” He squeezed 207’s shoulder briefly before leaving him alone, shutting the door behind him. The place where his hand was warmed 207’s skin._

_He did as the man suggested and washed himself under the running water first. So much of him hurt to touch, and he washed as quickly as he could, trying not to think about which injuries came from what. Compartmentalization was key to survival._

_The hot water of the tub was a relief as he slid into it, submerging himself fully before resting his head on his crossed arms over the lip of the tub. There was a small white ball on the edge near him, and he picked it up to inspect. The places where his wet fingertips touched fizzed and revealed blue underneath, and a hint of something spicy and relaxing reached his nose. This must have been left here for him, he reasoned, dropping it into the water and watching it fizz and color the water a brilliant shade of blue. He basked in the smell and the heat, occasionally adding more hot water, and it was the first time he could remember allowing his mind to be completely blank. Time blurred as he rested there for a long while, dozing._

_Eventually, when the water was lukewarm and the skin on his fingers was wrinkled, he exited, drying himself with a towel that had been left on the vanity. He also donned the set of soft clothes he found there, a loose pair of pants and a cozy white shirt with buttons halfway down the chest. He crossed his arms tightly over his belly, unused to the simply luxury of clothing aside from his occasional walks with Kuina. The smell from the bath was still on him, and he was beginning to feel like a human being again. He made his way back out into the room, pushing his green hair back away from his eyes._

_There was a tray of food on the end of the bed, loaded with helpings of a number of dishes; meats, vegetables, rice, and other foods he didn't immediately recognize, as well as a pitcher of water and a glass. The man looked up from where he was sitting on the bed with a book. “Please, eat something. You must be hungry.”_

_207 stopped short, stunned. That pile of food was for_ **him?** _He looked up at the man, waiting for some kind of trap as he reached hesitantly for the tray. He had made this mistake once before and received a beating for it. There seemed to be no immediate repercussions, and the man smiled at him encouragingly before returning to the book he was reading. 207 took his tray and backed into a corner, hunching jealously over his food and occasionally glancing up at the man. Many of these foods were things he had never eaten before. Soon, everything on the tray was gone, along with half a pitcher of water. He was suddenly very, very tired._

_The man took 207’s tray from him with another small smile, setting it on the floor near the door. The half-full pitcher and 207’s glass were set on the table next to the bed. The man sat down heavily and clasped his hands together, looking across to 207 where he still sat in the corner. He regarded him with an open expression, as if waiting for him to speak. He sat up again and patted the bed next to him. “I had your bedding replaced. I hope you don’t mind.”_

_207 shook his head, finally finding his voice. “Thank you.”_

_The man smiled again. “He speaks.”_

_207 didn’t respond._

_The man’s smile fell and he got up from the bed, starting to remove the thin jacket he wore over his clothes. The simple action made 207’s stomach drop, expecting the worst._

_“I’m going to sleep,” the man said, not turning to look at him. “I think you need it more than I do, though. I can sleep on the floor if you’re uncomfortable.”_

_Again, 207 was stunned. The offer was so kind and discerning that it made his throat close up. His voice cracked a bit. “I can share.”_

_“Alright.” The man flicked the light out and got into the bed without another word, sticking as close to the edge as possible. 207 watched him for a moment before deciding it was safe, crawling into the other side and settling into the clean blankets. A few moments of silence passed with 207 staring wide-eyed into the darkness before the man whispered. “My name is Jabir.” He paused expectantly, and then seemed to realize nothing was forthcoming. “What’s yours?”_

_The gravity of the question hit 207 like a brick wall. No one had ever asked, and so he had never had to give the answer. He supposed he could give Jabir his number, but that was wrong. Instead, he opted for honesty. “I don't…have one.”_

_The short silence from Jabir was deafening. “That’s a damn shame.” He said nothing else, and 207 settled in to sleep. Just as he was on the edges of unconsciousness, Jabir sighed and said, “I’ll call you Marimo for now.”_

_Moss-ball. After his hair._

_A smile played at 207’s lips involuntarily as he drifted off to sleep, unafraid for the first time he could remember._

 

********************

 

_The first night, he slept curled up into a ball on the very edge of the mattress, as far away from Jabir as possible. The second and third, he allowed himself to sprawl. He spent the days eating 3 square meals and even reading some of the books that Jabir had brought with him. He knew how to read, but he was never allowed to. It took a while to figure it out again, the words blurring and not making sense at first._

_Jabir wasn’t around most of the day. 207 didn’t know why he was at the estate, and he didn’t ask. When he reentered the room, he always lead with an “I’m back, Marimo.” At night, he tried to make some conversation, but 207 didn’t have much to contribute. Mostly, he let 207 rest, and was a warm comfort nearby in the darkness._

_By the fourth night, 207’s emotions got the better of him. He cried for the first time in years. A heavy hand settled on his arm and squeezed, a silent “I’m here”._

_The next two nights, Jabir held him._

_On the last night, 207 wept bitterly in his arms as Jabir said, “I’m sorry I can’t stay with you longer. I need you to hold on for me. I’m coming back for you.” He tightened his hold. “Next time you see me, I want to know your name.”_

_He was gone in the morning._

_It didn’t matter that he had to leave him alone again, and it didn’t matter why he was there in the first place. What mattered was that for a short time, he had been treated like a human being instead of an object. That small amount of comfort was enough to sustain him long enough to survive, to escape instead of ending his life. He didn’t love the man, but because of him, he knew what it might feel like to be loved._

_That was enough._

  

* * *

 

The quiet dark enveloped Zoro as he snuck back into the men’s cabin. His gaze immediately settled on Sanji sleeping easily, one curly eyebrow peeking out through the curtain of his blonde hair. There was no reason left to give a damn about consequences. He didn’t care who saw them in the morning. The hammock creaked and swayed as he crawled into it like a child, desperate for the solid warmth of Sanji’s body. He curled himself into Sanji’s chest, forehead pressed into his sternum, breathing harsh and body trembling.

 

Sanji stirred, his hand coming up to squeeze at Zoro’s bicep. “Zoro…?” he said groggily. “ ‘s wrong?”

 

“I’m sorry…” Zoro whispered, fighting to get words out. “Please, Sanji…” he didn’t know what he was begging for. He hated himself for sounding so weak.

 

Sanji embraced him properly, one hand coming up to play with his hair while the other held him firmly around the waist. “Hush, love,” he soothed. “In the morning. I’ve got you til then.”

 

The swirling nebula of self-hate finally retreated, still there, _always_ there, but less. The shaking in his frame stopped nearly as quickly as it had started. His mind and body slowed as he was held again by someone who gave a damn. He knew, then, that this time was different: this time, what he felt was love.

**Author's Note:**

> Jabir is an Arabic name meaning "comforter, consoler". It was chosen intentionally because I'm a sap.
> 
> I hear tell that Zosan week starts on November 10th. I have a very short part 3 in mind that is Sanji-centric this time. Mayhaps it will be uploaded that week.
> 
> Literally the only reason I was motivated enough to write this was because of your kudos and comments. Keep 'em coming.


End file.
